


I Remember You All

by Velocity_Owl87



Category: The Terror (TV 2018), The Terror - Dan Simmons
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Churches & Cathedrals, Crisis of Faith, Deal with a Devil, Domestic, Día de los Muertos | Day of the Dead, Grief/Mourning, Introspection, Loss, M/M, Sacrifice, Somebody Lives/Not Everyone Dies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-04
Updated: 2020-11-04
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:48:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27381439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Velocity_Owl87/pseuds/Velocity_Owl87
Summary: Francis, despite being home safe, cannot forget the men he lost on the ice and needs to find a way to let them know and finds a way to do so in the last place he expected to.
Relationships: Captain Francis Crozier/Commander James Fitzjames, Henry Collins/Harry D. S. Goodsir
Comments: 2
Kudos: 12





	I Remember You All

**Author's Note:**

> First time doing a Day of the Dead (All Soul's Day) story for the Terror Fandom. Mixing both Book! Francis and Show! Francis here due to the traditions I used here.  
> The church is an amalgam of all the Anglican churches I have been into and Catholic traditions, which do carry over in High Anglicanism. One these being lighting candles for departed souls. Particularly on the Day of the Dead and All Soul's Day.

It had been far too long since Francis had been in any place of worship and he felt odd being in one. Particularly since he was sure he had lost any faith he had on the ice. 

Well, not all of it, he amended as he walked into the non-descript church. He had to suppress an urge to kneel and genuflect, the ghost of Memo Moira whispering to him, telling him what he should do. 

But he ignored it as he walked into the dim interior, pausing at the front before heading to the side alcove where they had once kept statues, but only kept candles. 

They were arranged in racks, the tallest rows in the back, the lowest in the front. Just like he remembered. He took comfort in that as he shuffled forward and took in the soft, warm glow of the candles that were already lit. 

He was surprised that so many had been lit. Especially so early in the day. 

His forehead creased as he tried to recall the date. He knew that there was a reason for all of this, but finally gave up and looked at the flimsy calendar on the wall. 

November 2nd. 

“Ah,” He breathed out. All Soul’s Day, his grandmother’s voice whispered in the back of his mind, where he kept all of those things he couldn’t bring himself to think about now that he was back in England. 

He was usually successful, but not today and not when faced with all those cheerfully burning votive candles in front of him. 

He watched them burn in their little glass holders, the lights flickering and swaying against the whitewashed walls of the alcove. They were soothing to him, despite the bareness of the walls reminding him of the tundra that they had to trudge through for so long. He shuddered and pushed that memory away, focusing on the warmth of the lights and the red glass of the holders. 

It helped push the memories away and helped take the edge of the chill that he always felt no matter how warm the rooms or the city itself was. Goodsir thought it was psychological, borne from the time they had spent on the ice. 

It was a good theory, but he couldn’t bring himself to believe it. Not after what he had seen, done and  _ killed _ (he surprised himself by the lack of remorse he felt about killing the mutineers. He had to save his men. And he never regretted doing what he had to do) to escape that white hell. 

But he only smiled and nodded whenever he heard Goodsir explain it to Collins, who would smile and take Goodsir’s hand. 

He often suspected that Collins himself didn’t believe it. Yet he wouldn’t say anything. Only give him a look as if he  _ knew _ what their escape and rescue entailed. Collins would know. He had been one of the few close enough to see what the Tuunbaq really was and escape it. 

Yet they never spoke of it. Collins was still putting himself together and he didn’t want to remind the man of their time there. 

So he would only smile and wait for Collins to stop Goodsir’s words.

Goodsir would stop talking then, and would instead sit closer to Collins and murmur comforting words as he would give as much comfort as he could to Collins. Comfort that the other man would soak in and be able to go through the night again. 

It was usually then that they would murmur their goodbyes and take their leave.

He smiled thinly at the memory and watched the candles until he felt the old ache in his hand and his mouth. 

He had been standing too long, yet he didn’t want to leave just yet. It was quiet and still here and the idea of being out there in the throng of humanity that was London just yet. He needed the quiet and he needed absolution for the souls of the men he had lost on the ice. 

He needed to do something and it dawned on him that he could. 

Even if his fatih was tarnished beyond redemption, he had to do something for them. Something else apart from donating for memorial sculptures and getting pensions for the widows and families. Something to let them know he hadn’t forgotten them and hadn’t put them behind himself. 

His eyes fell on the candle rack again and it was then that he saw the metal donation box and the tapers and unlit candles. 

And he understood what he needed to do. 

He took out enough coins to cover the amount of candles he needed and put them in the box before he fitted the candles into the empty holders. It was a slow task, but once it was done and they were lit, he recited the names in his mind as he watched the candles burning brightly lighting up the alcove brightly enough for the rich jewel tones of the stained glass window to be picked out. 

He stood there long after he was finished, his thoughts dwelling on his men when he was startled out of his reverie by a hand on squeezing his shoulder.

“Francis! Sorry I’m late, it is a madhouse out there! Were you waiting long?” 

Francis turned to James, smiling. He shook his head and James let out a sigh of relief as he hefted the paper wrapped package in his good arm. 

Francis looked up at James and raised an eyebrow. James had healed, but his arm was still weak and the package looked heavy. 

James shook his head, an indulgent smile on his still thin face when he saw the question on Francis’ face. 

“It’s not as heavy as it looks, Francis. And I did promise Goodsir and Little I would get there for them. For the next visit,” James added, and Francis nodded, recalling the offer James had made to both men. They couldn’t get into London as often and Francis suspected that James had offered out of misplaced guilt for how long it was taking Collins and Jopson to heal from their experiences again. 

Francis knew too, that he did because Francis himself  _ couldn’t. _

James’ mouth thinned and the lines in his cheeks became sharp and deep as he guessed at what Francis was thinking. 

“It doesn’t matter, darling. I’ve got a carriage waiting. Come on, I’ve got biscuits and more tea. The Earl Grey that you liked that last time we were at the Rosses,” James added, doing his best to coax a smile from Francis.

Francis nodded and let James take the lead towards the carriage, taking advantage of the coachman’s help to get his shopping tied in so that he’d be able to help Francis inside. 

Francis would have balked if he could have, but he didn’t when he knew he needed the help. A missing hand made climbing into a carriage harder than it should have been, so he humbly accepted James' help and climbed inside. 

Once they were settled, he got a brief glimpse of the church. He wouldn’t have taken note of it, usually. But the misty shapes around the entrance made him start briefly. Was it his men?

He only saw the suggestion of sailors and troops standing at attention before James pulled the curtains closed and they were off. 

Francis didn’t know for sure, but he got the feeling it was them.

And it was this knowledge that helped him finally sleep without having nightmares of ice, a woman with a bloody mouth, and a giant dying spirit bear who always asked him to pay the price to save himself and his men.

**Author's Note:**

> Francis- It is hinted he knows enough of Catholicism due to his grandmother, Memo Moira in the book. All Soul's Day would be something he would know from being CofE and Catholic and since he lost his men, he would take a day to think of them as his way to honour them. He did pay a heavy price to save the rest. Including James, Goodsir, Little and the others. Collins survived due to lucky shots and is slowly getting back to himself from being so close to losing his own soul.   
> The Deal with the Devil tag was used to explain the deal he made with Silna and the Tuunbaq, NOT that the Tuunbaq is the devil.


End file.
